I have no idea how old this might be but hazarding a guess towards 8 or 7 years. That doesn’t seem like a long time, to me it doesn’t, but for my writing it certainly seems to, it’s come a long way! I have gotten so much more practised. I cannot believe how much this takes me down memory lane. I also cannot believe that I have kept this.
he was like a middle aged Jack Kerouac in his pictures and she was wet thinking of his exploits, breath took
she wasn’t sure what to do, that wouldn’t be crude
and, after all, it wasn’t his image
no, it was his words that wet her lips, readied her for adventure
oh hell, she flung aside the book, half undressed
K.L 2016 ©
God help the other woman
who has to follow his movements through Facebook
meeting his family through poorly punctuated updates
tagged tweets and pinned meals out at a restaurant for a birthday
that, surprise surprise, she was not privy to, his gift still lays unopened
the other woman is a child, must not be seen, must not be heard
fills her cunt with toys and heart with doubts
She’s stressed, burnt out
like the wife he meant to leave
discards her, discarded them all
once they begun to question
why won’t you leave her for me?
K.L 2016 ©
Sat in front of an English exam
I can actually not do this
I pass the hall
where blazered children flock
I am taking a mock English exam in a private room the matrons office
Alone watching the clock
that is propped against the wall, on the desk
A teaching assistant sits like a jailor
marking my time and making sure that I don’t cheat
I feel dull
handed over my phone and razors
which lighten my blazer
I shrug it further over my shoulders
shift the gym bench closer to the table attempt to concentrate
I cannot fail.
Bring me back to summer
Bring me back to summer.
Sand grinding in-between my toes,
water dashing over my feet.
Sunshine glare shares the waves
of windy heat that grazes my body.
Seeing the hazy mirage
In the distance where
there’s always an ocean
but never a beach.
Even a burn on the skin
brings nary a frown or scoff,
but a smile towards the sun;
Such a friendly foe it is.
Swift dreams pass as
lofty clouds in a lofty day,
bearing peace as rays
painted across the sky.
I slowly shut my eyes,
soaking in the dream,
only to wake in the rain.
Where Everything and Nothing Makes Sense is a delicious collection of formal poems with a variety of subjects penned and they seem fresh off the page.
Forever is a poem that took my breath away at its well executed evocation of love.
There are different styles of poem and one, Anxiety Part IV, is prose that reads like a story between a battle but is actually a metaphor. Poem Agoraphobia also covers the subject of anxiety and I think possibly evokes more fear into me than the first, as well depicted as it is. What a Dream is a fantastic poem that uses a train metaphor for intrusive thoughts and is so stark, you have to admire the writer and want to shake his hand.
I feel that this did exhaust itself by the end, or at least it exhausted me! I think it is going to be a required taste and is not to be read in a single sitting. Definitely a book to add to your bookshelf. M.M Walker has potential.
Overall a fine collection of poetry, with utter readability and something you’re going to want to read over.